The Demon Deer

Chapter 5

          Taking to the trails, Tinley lost himself, his inner deer taking  over completely and he was happy to let it. Being stuck indoors was something that would drive any fawn mad. This is where they should be, were meant to be, young and alive with the wind in their hair and leaves crunching beneath their hooves.

          Tinley was far from camp, too far, much farther than he ever meant to go, when the wind changed direction, and he froze mid-stride, so quickly that he almost fell. It was a deer's natural reaction to danger, only overcome by a lifetime of training and to some, not even then.

          His nose twitched at the pungent, almost tangible, musky scent of a predator, the scent of wolf, thick and cloying in his throat, choking him. His knees went weak and wobbly, tail tucking between his legs, the need to urinate overwhelming, and his heart began to slam against his ribcage, but it wasn't fear he felt... It was excitement.

          He breathed deep of his fear, of the wolf, and his body was a statue, the only thing moving was his ears, listening for even the lightest crunch of snow... But there was nothing.... Nothing but the whispering of the trees and they called to him.

          Every step became harder than the last, every instinct telling him to turn and run but he couldn't, no matter how tight he belly got, or how shaky his breathing, he had to see, just see one wolf, to look the monster in the face and see what it was that they feared so. He knew he was close, he could feel it, every hair on his body standing on end. Then he smelled it, blood, could taste it, heavy and metallic, on his tongue.

           Tinley moved a bit faster now, perhaps driven by his mother's need to help someone who had been injured, or by his father's need to protect, but he began to scamper from one tree to the next, over rocks and trough gullies until he finally reached the outcrop and found what he had been hunting for.... Hunting? Was that what he was doing?

          Most of the body had been covered by snow and he was surprised to find that it was indeed a wolf but not the kind he had originally thought. It was a werewolf, not that he had ever seen one but the stories by the fire told it true. It was large, though not as large as his father but would be one day if not more, and it was young though not so young as Tinley.

          Tinley had to force himself to move, force himself to breath, as he approached, slowly, so slowly, and kneeled down next to it... Him... It was a boy.... In the middle of adolescence, with a beautiful face, strong chin, straight nose, but his favorite thing was the hair, the way it filtered from red to brown to black.

          With an over exaggerated ease he began to brush the snow from the ice cold body, tracing a finger along it's tail and marveling at how soft the fur was. A rather fine specimen, and despite the fact that it was most likely for the best, Tinley found himself very very sad that it was dead.

          The hand that caught Tinley's wrist was large, strong enough to grind his bones together, and the sharp black claws easily pierced the flesh of his arm. His movements were like tree sap in the winter as he fumbled for the knife his father had given him, almost dropping it twice before he was able to raise it high above his head only to freeze as a pair of brilliant golden eyes regarded him coolly. He could almost feel them as they travelled over his body, stopping for a long time on his face and on the knife only briefly before it chuckled, softly, low and rumbling, making Tinley's heart flutter, before it finally released him.

          "What?" Tinley heard himself ask.

          The wolf closed it's eyes. "Just life.... It always has a way of surprising you..."

          "What happened to you?" He said questioning, though more just to hear it speak again than for an actual answer but there was no response... It was unconscious.

           Tinley lowered the knife. He could have killed it.... But he couldn't let it die.

          It was almost dark by the time he reached the trails, taking most of the day to drag the wolf to a cave he had found a few weeks ago while out frolicking
This was nowhere near as tough as starting the fire but he had accomplished both and there was still much more to come. The wolf's entire right side was torn up pretty bad, long ragged gashes and deep punctures decorating his hide, most of which were infected, swollen, and oozing pus. Tinley could help him... Had to help him, but first he needed supplies.